Delivery
by Dollhousesareforwhimps
Summary: Ten years after the murder investigation, Yosuke is living more or less happily as a bike messanger in Tokyo. Until he's given a parcel to deliver that tears open old wounds. Souji/Yosuke and, eventually, Yosuke/Namatame.
1. Surprises

Yay for longfic? This is another BBBH fill. There is some rather sexually explicit stuff in one particular part of this story (although I will be putting a warning up once it gets near), so please read at your own discretion! Let me know if you enjoy! It's nice to hear from people who agree that Namatame is a really interesting piece of the Persona 4 experience.

Repeating my 'THAR BE GAY PAST THIS HERE POINT' warning! Consider yourselves thoroughly prepared. Although I like to think there's a healthy bit of character study here too.

* * *

There's a saying that his Mom liked to use on occasion. 'Time heals all wounds'.

It was just one platitude among many that his parents would whip out whenever the ostracizing of his family became too much, but Yosuke had been thinking about it more and more lately. It was a comforting notion, that ones mistakes or hurts would shrink with each passing day until they were too small to matter. When he was younger, Yosuke would track these problems obsessively. Each day brought a new opportunity to check if, maybe, they were on the road to being forgotten. The habit persisted until, one day, Souji pulled him aside and told him in no uncertain terms to stop picking at old scabs.

And he did. For the most part.

There was just one wound he could never seem to ignore; a small seed of doubt he'd planted in not only the others, but himself as well. Something that most people only considered in the midst of a philosophy class or drinking game. 'Would you ever kill a man'?

Yosuke didn't even have to think twice. He _was_ that person. The person who would cast aside humanity and compassion in favor of the instant gratification of taking another life. Souji tried for years to make him believe he wasn't like that. That, if he was, no amount of convincing would have made him stop. Yosuke wanted to believe him; tried _desperately_ to believe him. But with every attempt, he kept coming back around to the same image.

Namatame, huddled in the corner, wholly consumed with fear. Fear of _him_. Because where Namatame had endangered lives through a genuine desire to help them, Yosuke merely wanted blood. _He_ was the murderer, not Namatame.

And if Namatame deserved death, Yosuke didn't want to imagine what _he_ deserved.

---

"Yosuke." Nothing. "_Yosuke_."

A lump in the blankets shifted slightly, followed by a lingering, whiny groan that sounded something like a basketball deflating. Souji tried a second time, taking the initiative to yank the comforter from the lump's firm, unyielding grip. It took several sharp tugs before it finally gave way to reveal a human being, although that was a generous title this early in the morning.

"Nngh," Yosuke groaned, feeling around for the blanket with his eyes stubbornly shut, but Souji had already pushed it far from his reach. With a dissatisfied puff of air, the brunette finally opened his eyes. Souji was hovering over him, already dressed, with a cup of coffee in hand. Apparently he'd already drunk his own cup, because in a matter of seconds Yosuke found the warm mug pressed into his own hands.

"I've got to go to work," Souji explained, gesturing towards the blinking digital clock mere inches from Yosuke's sleep-tousled head, "And so do you."

"Mmf, _why_?" Yosuke mumbled, his words slurring together as he sniffed deeply from the cup. The aroma was enough to coax some alertness out of him, albeit not much. With one hand he reached up blindly and gripped Souji's lapel, which the other man reacted to with only a sigh as he tried to extradite his jacket from Yosuke's death grip.

"So we can get paid, so we aren't late on our rent, so I won't have to flirt with the landlady to keep us from being evicted…again." Yosuke finally allowed Souji to pry his fingers away, letting his hand fall dramatically back to the mattress with a huff.

"Fine, fine," he relented, sitting up and taking a sip of the strong brew, "Don't let the kids strong-arm you, teach."

"I'll try to come home in one piece," Souji smirked, leaning down without fuss to press a kiss against Yosuke's mouth just as the rim of the mug left his lips. The kiss was short and routine, but the brunette was smiling all the same when Souji pulled away. The latter merely wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"Ugh, brush your teeth," he muttered after wiping his lips. Yosuke would've probably taken offense if it wasn't so early, but as it was he only managed a single roll of the eyes.

"Love you too. Now get out of here."

Souji smiled again, touching Yosuke's cheek briefly before gathering up a few papers he'd been grading and heading for the door. But not before turning back around and calling back a stern reminder not to be late. Yosuke grunted in reply, and began the long and arduous process that was his morning routine.

A shower, four pieces of toast (the first two burned and somehow found their way into the cat's bowl), and about ten outfit changes later, Yosuke finally emerged from the small apartment he and Souji shared. Being a bike messenger at 27 meant you were often on the receiving end of rather confused looks, most frequently his parents', but Yosuke wouldn't change careers for the world. There was always somewhere new to go, someone new to meet, something new to deliver. Sure, all the boxes looked the same, but Yosuke wasn't above at least imagining what might be inside. Not to mention, riding a bike for a living? Yosuke was living every little boy's dream.

Unfortunately, with that dream came an unsavory supervisor who smelled perpetually of tuna. Okamoto was overwhelmingly fat, with rings of blubber hanging from his neck and arms, and towers of paperwork surrounding him at all times. Yosuke would occasionally wonder just _how_ he got into a business that conjured up fit young men and women delivering packages through hell or high water, but he learned a long time ago that you didn't ask Okamoto questions.

"You're late, Hanamura," he barked, the moment Yosuke poked his head in the door. With a sheepish smile, the brunette didn't bother to explain the whys or hows of his lateness (the whys and hows being, he wanted to get a doughnut and the line had been a mile long), merely moving towards his locker and retrieving his uniform. Another thing you didn't do was try and explain yourself to Okamoto. Ever.

"Got a big job for you," his boss continued, shuffling through a tall stack of papers, "A legal aid office needs some files delivered." Yosuke was buttoning up his shirt when the bomb hit. "You need to give them to some guy named…uhm," there was a pause as Okamoto shuffled through papers, "Taro Namatame."

Yosuke didn't even notice as the hanger he was holding slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor.

"What's with you, Hanamura?" Okamoto groused, his loud asthmatic breathing echoing in the cramped office as Yosuke remained perfectly still, "Pull it together; I've gotten enough complaints about your work ethic to justify firing you if there are any more screw ups."

Yosuke reached down and shakily picked up the hanger, putting it back in his locker. He knew Okamoto was lying; there had only been two complaints filed against him in the five years he'd worked there, one of which was for damaging a parcel that was dented up before he received it and the other for when he never showed up due to being hit by a car. Still, he nodded and took the work assignment without a word, scanning it just to see if it was true. And, indeed, there was the name. Taro Namatame. It took Yosuke three gulps to completely swallow the lump that had formed in his throat.

"They're expecting it by 10:30, so you better hustle," Okamoto wheezed, shooing him away with a wave of his sausage-like fingers. Yosuke nodded, still silent, as he raked a hand through his hair and continued to stare at the name. He didn't manage to look away until he was back on his bike, parcel in hand, kicking off the pavement and into the flow of traffic.

* * *

This story is indeed finished, but I figure its more exciting to upload a chapter a day. Not to mention, it's so nice to hear feedback! I hope to hear from a few of you. Maybe. Possibly. If you feel like it. 3


	2. Takeda

Sorry for the delay! For that, you get two chapters. Hope people are reading this!! Thank you to my lovely reviewer -- I'm glad you're enjoying this for the second time. :D

* * *

The legal aid office was one he'd heard about on the news. Or, rather, overheard, while he focused on fixing the breaks on his bike. He couldn't remember much, but he could recall the announcers making a lot of fuss about the mission of the office; namely, defending wrongfully accused and convicted citizens. It was non-profit (which would've made Yosuke groan, if he was in any capacity to think about his tip) and some fuss had been made about a legal counsel they'd hired who was a wrongfully accused man, himself. A dark mood passed over him for a moment, when he realized Souji _must_ have known but simply decided not to mention it. His partner's habit of deciding what was best for Yosuke without consulting him first was a constant argument in their apartment, but the brunette had to admit he was probably right this time. Since they moved to Tokyo, Yosuke was able to shove the darker points of the case to the back of his mind, where they might continue to fester, but at least he didn't have to think about it.

It was an easy job, all told. The commuter traffic had lightened up and Yosuke was able to weave through lanes without much trouble. It was close, too, located only ten minutes away from the courier office. Yosuke wished it was a longer trip. On those far flung deliveries, he got a chance to think, while the relaxing whirr of his tires carried him out of the business district and into quieter parts of the city. On a normal day, he would've used that time to figure out his plans for the weekend or maybe make a list of things he needed to do -- call Chie, bring Souji lunch, remember to mail the bills. But naturally, today, the one day he needed to really _think_ about what he was going to do, Yosuke had been on the road for all of four minutes and he was halfway there._ Brilliant._

The aid office was smaller than he expected, considering how much play it had gotten on television. No larger than a good sized convenience store, Yosuke lingered outside the front for a while, scrutinizing it. Namatame worked _here_? The milquetoast man never struck him as much of a mover and shaker, but while Yosuke never paid much attention to politics, the others had informed him of Namatame's rising political star prior to the murders.

Without warning, a rush of guilt Yosuke couldn't quite explain hit him in the gut. An older woman moved past him, heading into the office while glancing back at him suspiciously. It was that moment when Yosuke realized just how much attention he was garnering like this, loitering outside the legal aid office in an eye catching yellow uniform with a hefty messenger bag slung over his shoulder. Embarrassment was a great motivator, even in the face of fear, and before too long, Yosuke found himself speaking to one of the secretaries in the small lobby.

"Excuse me," he asked, trying his best to sound steady and confident, "Do you know where I can speak with a Taro Namatame?"

The woman was young and pretty, if a little sleepy around the eyes, and took a long time to acknowledge him from where she stared at her computer screen. Briefly, Yosuke wondered if she had heard him at all, before his fears were assuaged by a clipped, "His office is over there, past the cubicles. There's a nameplate."

"Thanks," he smiled, clutching the strap of his bag tightly while he approached the door. Maybe, he thought wildly, _maybe_ it was a different Taro Namatame. He had met at least thirty 'Taro's in his lifetime and surely a _few_ 'Namatame's. There was no reason why this couldn't all just be a crazy coincidence, Yosuke told himself with a deep breath before rapping on the door three times.

There was a muted voice beyond it, saying something close to 'Just one minute' amidst the sounds of papers rustling and the clatter of a keyboard. Yosuke shifted from foot to foot with mounting nerves. The build up was too much for his naturally impatient personality and, just as he raised his fist to knock again, the door opened to reveal an older gentlemen. His head was topped with thinning, salt and pepper hair cropped close to his scalp. His smile was broad, but his eyes still looked sad regardless, giving him the aura of a hopeful puppy. Yosuke's grip on his bag tightened until the tips of his fingers turned white.

He was a little older, a little chubbier, but it was him. The man he'd nearly murdered ten years prior. And all Yosuke could do was stare.

"Yes?" Namatame asked, voice friendly albeit a little confused by Yosuke's behavior, "Can I help you?"

"F-files," the brunette stammered, fishing around in his bag before holding up the manila folders crammed with documents and briefs. As he extended them towards the older man, Yosuke searched his eyes desperately for a spark of recognition. Anything to prove that he wasn't just imagining this. But Namatame merely smiled clapped Yosuke on the back. He practically jumped.

"Thank you, young man, we were worried these would never get here in time," he paused, removing his wallet from his front pocket, "How much do you usually get for this sort of trip?"

"You don't have to give me anything!" Yosuke blurted, instantly wincing at how defensive he sounded.

"Well," Namatame continued, unfazed by the courier's odd behavior, "I think I'd like to anyway. Do you have a family, mister…?"

"Uh…um, Takeda," Yosuke muttered, licking his lips nervously while turning red to the tips of his ears, "And, kinda, not really. Anyway, you really don't have to tip me, sir, I've got another job to get back to and my boss'll kill me if I'm late so, see ya, uhm, enjoy your files!" And with that, he left Namatame in the doorway to his office and rushed back towards the street.

The rest of the day was a blur. Monday was their busiest workday, with all the weekend discussions coming to fruition with mergers and launches and bids, so there was never a shortage of jobs for Yosuke to distract himself with. Still, with each new delivery, Yosuke found himself adjusting his route to pass by Namatame's office. He'd only catch the slightest glance and even that ached, but for all he tried, he couldn't tame the compulsion. The morning passed seamlessly into afternoon, and when the time came for his break, he found himself simply riding around a single block, whizzing by the drab office exterior countless times. He kept hoping that, maybe, he'd catch the man from his past going out for lunch. That, _maybe_, if he could just talk to him alone the words he'd wanted to say for years would finally come.

He looped around the block thirty more times. He didn't see Namatame even once.

His day ended the way it began; Okamoto yelling for him to shape up into one ear while Souji rattled off a list of things that needed doing in the other. The cacophony of it all left him wondering whether the headache pounding in his ears was more a product of the last five minutes than the rest of his trying day. As he stepped outside and Okamoto's sloshing tongue was replaced completely by Souji's smooth tenor, he realized that wasn't the case and brought two fingers to his temple.

"Are you listening to me?" Souji asked, voice crackling through the spotty reception, "Yosuke?"

"Yeah, sorry," he murmured, rubbing at his eye with the heel of his palm. They were burning and he couldn't understand why. Probably more allergies.

"What did I just say?"

Yosuke didn't answer, merely heaving a sigh as he pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders. The silence hung on the phone for a few moments, but in the end Souji didn't seem keen on embarrassing him further and his tone softened considerably.

"Is everything alright?" Again, no response. "Did something happen at work?"

"Yeah, something," Yosuke answered dismissively, picking at a stray thread on his shirt until the fabric began to pinch, "Look, don't worry about it. Do you need me to pick anything up on the way home?"

"No, I'm ordering in. That's why I called you," if there was a trace of irritation in Souji's voice, Yosuke didn't pick up on it. His partner was good at keeping things above his level, if he needed to, "What do you want?"

"Just pick for me," Yosuke replied with obvious apathy, "I'll be home in twenty minutes."

"Fine," Souji murmured curtly, his mask slipping ever so slightly, "Bye."

Yosuke opened his mouth to apologize, or at least grunt out something _resembling_ one, but Souji was quicker and soon he found himself on the phone with a dial tone. Swearing to himself in frustration, Yosuke switched his phone to silent and shoved it deep into one of the pockets in his coat. At least now he'd have an excuse for not answering when Souji, inevitably, called back to make amends.

After all, being angry with his partner gave him the perfect excuse to take his time getting home. Namely, so he could pay a final visit to a certain office building.

Kicking off the curb, Yosuke set off in the direction of Namatame. The sun was sinking steadily, casting long shadows and plunging the city into that final burst of bright light before evening truly set in. A slight wind wove through the towering buildings and blew his hair into a wild mess, copper strands obscuring his vision at inconvenient times while he navigated around pedestrians and vehicles alike. It was one of the coldest winters he could remember while living in Tokyo. It didn't hold a candle to the harshness of an Inaba winter, but his mind drew the connection all the same. It was fitting. So fitting that it almost angered him; as if someone was setting him up for a laugh.

As he turned the final corner and Namatame's office came into view, Yosuke was displeased to note that while a stream of employees were leaving for the night, the one he sought wasn't among them. He waited for ten minutes, leaning heavily on the handlebars of his bike while scanning the faces of each new departure. A man with an impressive mustache, two pretty women in impeccable suits that looked as if they worked for a more distinguished firm, a young lawyer with a handsome face that held Yosuke's attention a little longer than the others, but no Namatame. Frankly, it was getting frustrating, not to mention freezing.

It was the latter more than former that finally prompted Yosuke to slip inside the warm lobby. The secretary was packing up her things when he approached her, but she smiled all the same as he introduced himself and asked for Namatame. A vast improvement on the girl who had been working the earlier shift, he noted.

"Mr. Namatame is in a conference call at the moment. Would you like me to give him a message?"

Yosuke chewed his lip, wondering how on earth you might phrase_ this_ sort of message. _Just let him know the guy who tried to murder him way back wants to meet up_ or, perhaps, _I was in the neighborhood and thought, hey! It's been a while since I contacted a recipient of one of my death threats._ Neither option gave him a very good chance of _not_ being hauled away by the men in white coats.

"Is it alright if I wait?"

The secretary wrinkled her nose in confusion, but the brief lapse of her Customer Service Face was quickly replaced by an even brighter smile, "Certainly, but I can't saw how long he'll be."

"That's alright," Yosuke nodded with a wane smile of his own, "I've got nowhere else to be."

His phone buzzed forcefully within the contents of his coat, almost as if in retaliation. Yosuke ignored it and took a seat until it stopped.

In the next hour or so, his phone never seemed to stop jumping in his pocket. The secretary had long since been replaced by a pudding faced security guard who seemed to think skinny twinks hanging around an office lobby after dark weren't to be trusted (which Yosuke couldn't really blame him for, but he still wished the dark looks would stop). At some point, he didn't really remember when, the calls had changed to texts. Those, at least, he could read. Although he didn't actually go through the effort to check them until nearly forty minutes into his wait.

_From: Souji Seta_

_Time: 17:48_

_i guess youre riding right now and cant get your phone. i ordered you a pepper steak from that Chinese place and some dumplings. that O.K.?_

_From: Souji Seta_

_Time: 18:10_

_you said 20m but its been nearly twice that. can you answer your phone plz?_

_From: Souji Seta_

_Time: 18:30_

_the food is here. where are you? :(_

_From: Souji Seta_

_Time: 19:03_

_Hello, my name is Souji Seta. The man whom this phone belongs to is named Yosuke Hanamura. If something has happened, please call me at this number. I'm his cousin and I'm not on his emergency contacts, but I'm the only family he has here. Thank you._

Yosuke turned off his phone, scowling as the LCD screen faded to black. With a violent shove back into his pocket, Yosuke glared at his shoes, incensed for reasons he couldn't really understand. Or maybe didn't want to.

"Sorry for holding you up, Eichi," a voice intoned, timid but no less warm, "Call went long."

Yosuke looked up towards the voice, more out of instinct than curiosity. The combined effect of Souji's texts and the monotony of waiting on one place for what seemed like an endless stretch of time had made Yosuke forget just why he was here.

One look at Namatame patting the guard on the back, eyes crinkled with a tired smile, was all it took to bring him right back to his anxiety.

"Excuse me!" he called out, louder than he intended, just as Namatame placed one hand on the revolving door, "Excuse me, Taro Namatame?"

The older man turned, his brow instantly furrowing once he saw Yosuke. Fear briefly crossed his face as he recalled his face. He remembered him as the odd courier from early that day, not the angry teenager with murder on his mind, but when a shaky smile stretched across thin lips, Yosuke couldn't help feeling a little sick all the same.

"…Takeda, right?" he asked, hovering awkwardly with one foot in the revolving door. Yosuke took a step closer, shaking his head wordlessly. His mouth felt too dry to speak.

"No? I guess I heard you wrong, then," Namatame laughed -- a short, cautious laugh that one might use to ward off grabby drunks or the homeless. Maybe the man thought he was a little of both. "Did you change your mind about that tip?"

Yosuke ducked his head for a moment, taking a deep breath as he tried to force out at least _one_ word. It took him nearly a minute for, "No," to escape his lips.

"Oh?" Namatame asked, glancing over at the security guard, who had was giving Yosuke an even darker look than before, "Did…did you want _more_?"

As if on cue, the security guard started moving towards Yosuke. Darting away from the hulking man as evasively as he could, the brunette pushed back the hood of his sweatshirt and swallowed hard.

"My name's not Takeda, it's Yosuke Hanamura. I need to talk to you."

In an instant, Namatame's face seemed to flip through more expressions than Yosuke could count. Recognition, fear, relief, confusion, pain, and something else he couldn't quite place. Despite the age added onto his face, Yosuke could still pick out familiar ticks that made his flesh tingle and burn. The crease between his brows when he was confused, the way his eyes would widen when frightened, the look of utter helplessness he wore when unsure of how to feel. It was almost too much to bear.

"It's alright, Eichi," Namatame mumbled, holding a hand up to the security guard while still staring at Yosuke, "We know each other."

With a grunt, the guard retreated, still giving Yosuke scathing glances over his shoulder every so often. Namatame merely stared, holding a hand out to touch the younger man's face before drawing it away in embarrassment. Yosuke blushed deeply, but he wasn't quite sure why.

"You've really grown up."

"Tell that to my parents."

There was an awkward laugh shared between them, neither looking particularly comfortable.

"So, um," Yosuke faltered, taking a moment to swallow and smooth down the short hairs on the back of his neck, "Um, do you want to go for coffee or something? I know it's late, but-"

"I'd love to, Hanamura-kun." Namatame was wearing an expression so subtle, Yosuke wasn't sure to feel comforted or on edge. He ended up somewhere in the middle, but summoned a genuine smile all the same.

"Perfect."

* * *

Let me know if you enjoyed it!!


	3. Coffee and Tea

And the second!! Let me know how you feel about it. :D

* * *

It seemed understood that Namatame would choose the place and the two walked in awkward silence, the older man walking a few paces ahead. Yosuke's bike was squeaking particularly badly, almost as if to stymie any conversation that could possibly bubble up between them. Or maybe it was just an excuse to keep quiet, Yosuke mused after another moments thought.

After a few minutes, they arrived in front of a classically decorated café. It was practically deserted, but then again, so were most of the shops in the business district once all the lawyers, C.E.O.s, and office peons went home for the night. It usually made him uncomfortable, lingering after most of the buildings were empty. Now he was thankful for it and allowed Namatame to hold the door open for him with only a modicum of embarrassment.

Seating themselves, in a shady corner completely isolated from the two other patrons gossiping drunkenly at the other end of the shop, it was a while before either spoke beyond ordering their drinks. Coffee for him -- two sugars, heavy on the cream -- and green tea for Namatame. It was Souji's drink of choice, which would've made Yosuke smile under normal circumstances. As it was, he only felt a stab of guilt while his phone seemed to get heavier in his pocket.

Then their orders arrived and, suddenly, Namatame decided he wanted to talk.

"So," he asked, leaning forward just slightly, "How did you find me?"

Yosuke fidgeted for a moment before wrapping both hands around the steaming cup, "I didn't. I mean, I really was just there to deliver files. I just…I mean, when I realized it was _you_…" He laughed again, not sure how else to fill the silence now that his words left him.

"I can't believe I didn't recognize you," Namatame murmured, staring at Yosuke with an intensity that made the other man shift under his scrutiny, "You look older, of course, but your nose, your mouth, your eyes…I always thought I had your face memorized. Guess this old man's memory isn't what it used to be."

Yosuke's face tightened, twisting into a mask as he tried to keep his composure and avoid saying something he would regret.

"What, you mean I don't haunt your nightmares? Aha…"

No such luck.

The look in Namatame's eyes was all Yosuke needed, really. His eyelids pulled back ever so slightly, his lower lip found its way between his teeth, and his face flushed almost imperceptibly. It was more of an answer than the brunette wanted, and he suddenly wondered if Namatame would care if he were to stand up and tear out of the shop without so much as a goodbye.

"Excuse me?" the older man finally managed, doing nothing to sooth Yosuke's nerves with a shaking voice.

"Forget it, I don't want to know," he dismissed, taking a deep sip of his coffee. It was too hot and burned his throat going down, but Yosuke didn't care. He just needed something to occupy his lips before they betrayed him again.

"What _do_ you want to know?"

The question was innocent enough. Namatame's intent was obviously that of mere curiosity and, really, Yosuke had no cause to suddenly feel as if he'd been sucker punched. Perhaps it was the unsaid implication, more than anything. The 'because I'll tell you all of it' hanging wordlessly in their air, just as tangible as if it had been spoken. At some point in the pause, Yosuke's hands found their way over the tops of his knees, stilling the distracting bounce of his legs.

"I…," he forced a cough, scratching at his already dry throat, "I, um, I don't…"

"Do you need something to drink?"

The question caught him off guard and it took him a moment to swallow the rest of his babbling explanation, resulting in a single, croaked, "Huh?"

Namatame explained himself by pulling his briefcase out from beside his chair and laying it flat on the tabletop. Yosuke didn't have the time to even blink before the latches were clicked open and a bottle of sake procured. It was cheap and half full, at most. The brunette sunk low in his chair, suddenly feeling horrible for a whole new set of reasons.

"You always carry something like that around?" he finally asked, just as Namatame finished pouring a generous amount into his tea.

"Only a few times a year," he replied, sounding for all the world like this was not a troubling habit in the slightest, "April and December."

Yosuke made a small, pained noise, biting his lip hard as he ducked his head. It was the slosh of alcohol hitting his coffee that made him look up again. Namatame smiled at him and wiped off the rim of the bottle with his napkin before recapping it.

"You looked like you could use some," was all he offered by way of explanation, and Yosuke couldn't really disagree.

"Thanks," he murmured, bringing the hot drink to his lips. It still burned going down, but it was of a distinctly different variety. The heat hit his stomach and blossomed until it reached the very tips of his fingers. When he finally pulled the cup away, Yosuke was surprised to find that he'd drained the entire mug in one gulp. Namatame was laughing; a strained, uneven sound, but welcome all the same.

"Looks like I was right," he smiled, taking a sip of his own concoction while Yosuke reached for the sake and refilled his cup, "I wouldn't have taken you for a drinking man, but I probably wouldn't take someone like me for one either."

"Yeah, no kidding," Yosuke laughed, feeling more at ease in the warm haze the liquor provided, "But I guess…it makes sense."

"Do you still think about them?"

The question caught Yosuke while he was taking another sip from his cup, prompting an embarrassing backwash into the glass as he sputtered for some sort of answer.

_Saki? Adachi? You? All the time._

"Who do you mean?" he finally asked, clearing his throat with an awkward puff of air.

"Well, it's just I thought…," Namatame paused, looking as if he was trying to recall something, "That boy…Seta, that's it, he told me you'd lost someone too. It was that girl, wasn't it? Saki Konishi?" The fact that he didn't hesitate on her name for a moment failed to escape Yosuke's notice.

"Ah," he croaked, taking another drink, "Yeah, I still think about her. She was…I don't know how to put it. She meant a lot to me."

"I understand," Namatame murmured, catching him in a soft stare. Yosuke only held it for a moment before averting his eyes down towards his hands, where he was picking relentlessly at a bit of dead skin. His first instinct was to feel bitter. How many times had someone placed their hand on his shoulder and told him in soothing tones that they 'understood'? But in the same second, a realization washed over him.

Namatame was the only person in the world who _did_ understand.

"Yeah," he heaved a deep breath, finally raising his gaze back up to meet Namatame's, "I know."

The older gentleman took that as a cue to offer a very somber, but very sincere smile. Yosuke returned it for the barest of moments before taking another drink.

"So you're a lawyer now?" he eventually asked, in his own not-so-graceful attempt at a subject change. Namatame, through mercy for Yosuke or himself, allowed the clunky transition to slide with nothing more than a small smile.

"Sort of," he explained, not looking too sure of how to articulate his position, "I don't get up in front of a court room like in TV dramas, and with most of our clients, they've already been tried. It's a lot of paperwork and sending things to labs and filing for appeals. Not as exciting as it sounds, to be honest."

"Still, I heard you got mentioned on the news," Yosuke offered, "That's pretty cool."

Namatame sighed, stirring the tea and sake mixture idly, speaking in such a way that made Yosuke feel deeply naïve, "I've been on the news enough for one man. Besides, I don't watch TV anymore."

Yosuke's first instinct was to blurt 'Not at _all_!?', but for once, he held his tongue.

"That's fair," he flashed a wide, toothy smile that didn't reach his eyes, "Beats working as a delivery boy, though. Uh, your job, I mean."

Namatame laughed softly, looking a little wistful for a moment, "I don't know about that. The summers where I worked for my father's delivery company as a teenager were a few of my favorites. You meet someone new every day."

"Mm," Yosuke nodded in genuine agreement, "I guess you're right. Pays the bills, too."

They both took a drink.

"You never answered my question, Yosuke-kun."

"Hm?" the younger man asked, suddenly feeling very much like a teenager again. Namatame could hold his gaze while he, technically an _adult_, couldn't so much as look at the man's hands without feeling a faint prickle of nerves on the back of his neck.

"About your family, remember, when you were delivering my parcel? It makes me feel old to think of you with a wife, but I'm curious all the same." He was smiling, which Yosuke returned briefly for an awkward moment before glancing away. His phone felt as if it was burning a hole in is pocket.

"Um, no wife," Yosuke smacked his lips, pouring himself more of the sake, "Never been the marrying type. I live with a roommate."

"Roommate," Namatame echoed flatly, raising one eyebrow. Yosuke took another deep swig of his sake, hoping against hope that the flush rising in his cheeks might be passed off as a side effect of the drink.

"Yeah," Yosuke continued, suddenly talking much louder than he realized. Souji always told him he was a terrible liar; providing more information than anyone could possibly want. Yosuke was too drunk to notice. "Souji Seta, the guy from back in Inaba. Grayish hair, kinda tall…?" Namatame nodded and Yosuke continued without hesitation, "We roomed together in college and got used to living with each other, or something, so we never stopped." He smiled broadly, taking a breath, then quickly remembering himself, "No big deal, though, I was thinking of getting my own place anyway. Once I find a girl who can cook as good as him…"

"I see," Namatame nodded, a faint glint of knowing in his eyes. Yosuke swallowed. Something told him the older man saw more than he'd wanted to show.

"So no children yet, then?"

Yosuke's smile suddenly turned bright, vibrant, and -- most surprising of all -- genuine, "Well, uh, no actually. My friends -- Chie and Yukiko, do you remember them? -- they wanted to have a kid and since they're…well, y'know." He held up his hand, tilting it back and forth. If Namatame's expression took on a note of amusement, Yosuke didn't read much into it. "Anyway, they went to me and Souji for jizz, but he has some weird medical problems in his family and a lot of addictiveness and other shady stuff, so in the end they went with me. I jacked off into a cup and nine months later, Yukiko popped out little Fumio. Pretty cool, huh?" Yosuke brought his mug back to his lips, only to find that it was once again empty. The sake bottle was running low too, although he couldn't remember Namatame refilling his cup more than once, at most. "I got pictures, if you wanna see."

"Of course, I'd love to."

Yosuke smiled and promptly dug around in his pocket, fingers eventually closing around his phone. If he was sober, part of him might be wondering just why Namatame was so curious about his personal life. Part of him might also be wondering why his expression kept morphing from polite interest to genuine longing. Instead, all he could focus on was switching the inconveniently sized nub into the on position.

Almost instantly, he was greeted by a chorus of beeps alerting him to several new text messages. Ten, to be exact. In his drunken excuse for fatherly pride, Yosuke had forgotten all about Souji.

* * *

More tomorrow! I think we're nearly through. One-two more chapters tops. :D


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